Balance
by Pirate Hatter
Summary: Wilson has come back to Princeton Plainsboro and has to tell House why he left. House/Wilson. Mature, not explicit I don't think .


Maybe it was dangerous, being back so soon

Maybe it was dangerous, being back so soon. Surrounded by familiarity, by memories…

By Amber.

No, that wasn't it. Not… it. He couldn't place what _it_ was, exactly, but he felt it. He felt it every damn time he walked into the hospital, every damn time he laid eyes on that son of a bitch who dared call him his friend. Ice blue eyes to reflect his icy heart. Foreign, foreboding, cut off, introverted. Everything a heart shouldn't be, beating in the bastard's chest countless times a day. Wilson can't even comprehend why he's drawn to the man. North to South, balance, Yin and Yang. They're made for each other.

Meant for each other. In a way that Amber and he never were.

He has to swallow, to steady himself. Prepare himself for what he's going to say. This is it, he'll explain it all. He'll make House understand why he couldn't come back. Why he left.

_It's because every minute I was with her, I thought of you._

_Every second._

_Every moment._

_I thought of you._

Wilson screams inside his mouth when House looks away, back to his computer, back to porn, back to his reflection of greed and sin. House doesn't care about the ugly reflection. He loves it. He craves to see the horror within the beauty. Or vice verse.

Wilson acts. He clasps his hand over the one House has on the mouse. House looks up, straight into hazelchestnutchocolate eyes that always look scared. Troubled. Worried. Compassionate. A whole list of painful emotions that make House's chest tighten with fear. All the emotions he never feels because he's too much of a cock to acknowledge his own weakness. Emotions are his chink, and he can't let a poison arrow through. Indecision is the only thing that shows in the man's ghost blue eyes. They're both at a loss for words. They both lean forward. North to South, balance, Yin and Yang.

They're meant for each other.

Their lips press against each other in a way that makes their throats close up. Their eyelids fall closed and they kiss like they've done it before, again and again.

Wilson's chest is tight with anxiety. Belief was not an option; this had to be a dream. It wasn't fair, if it was merely a figment of his imagination. Teasing him in the most painful way, like he was being impaled, slowly, by something blunt, right into his gut. His stomach knotted itself and screamed inside of him, but merely a whimper escaped. It was lost inside the other's mouth.

And somehow, he's fine with it. Because he can feel the connection. It was just as alive and breathing as they were, possibly more so. So alive it could survive in even the more uncivilized parts of Earth and space, and live to see it all again and again.

It's so alive, it takes them over. Heat and lust and need over come them and they find themselves on the floor, ripping at each other's clothes and ruining the fabric. Because they've always known about the connection. They felt it, from the time House first mumbled those words to Wilson long ago in Louisiana.

"I've taken care of it,"

The first words they shared, flaring up now, as they tumble and roll in naked bliss on House's office floor. The shades were drawn and the lights were off. Traffic in the hallways was thin this time of night, and not a soul could hear them share their perfect ecstacy.

House arches and gasps as they rub and grind together in a sinfully beautiful way. Wilson groans and reaches for the other again, and brings him back for another in a long line of short kisses that make House's soul come alive with passion and longing for the other. They talk to each other through it, whisper encouragements and I love yous whenever they get the breath to do it. Neither man feels awkward or queer for it, he just begs for more and his wish is granted with sweet talk, passionate cries, and pleas for the other to move a certain way. House can't even feel the pain he's been plagued with for so long, now that he's rolling and moving with Wilson on the uncomfortable and stiff ground. Nothing exists but him and the oncologist. And God, is it beautiful. House wants to cry, but all he manages is a choked gasp as Wilson wraps his arms around him and moves in just a way that makes them both groan with pleasure.

It's over too soon, both men agree. They need more from one another. They need to know they're meant for each other. They need to know they're safe. They need so much, and they're not sure how much they can give.

"It'll work." House promises, laying with Wilson, basking in the purest love he's ever known, and feeling like he's wanted for one of the few times in his life. Wilson presses his head to House's chest and listens to the melting heart beat slow to a comfortable rate. "I'll take care of it."

_North to South, balance, Yin and Yang._


End file.
